


Back in Black

by Impala_Dreamer



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Blood, F/M, Pain, Romance, all the things, implications of sexual activity, sads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-14 10:56:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16911621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Impala_Dreamer/pseuds/Impala_Dreamer
Summary: ~ The Winchesters travel to Louisiana to help out an old friend and Dean gets a moment of happiness before the walls come crashing back down.~





	Back in Black

Blood. There was so much blood. Her blood. It poured from her mouth, her sides, the cuts on her arms, the hole in her chest. It coated Dean’s hands and dripped down his shirt as he cradled her in his arms. She was gone.

“Dean!” Sam’s voice boomed throughout the room but Dean could barely hear him. It was muted and distant; nothing could break through the cloud of pain and grief that surrounded Dean as he lay on the cold ground rocking her to his chest. Sam knelt down, falling to his knees next to Y/N’s limp form, tears filling his eyes. “Dean, what did you do?”

 

They were back on the road where they belonged. Witches, demons, it didn’t much matter what lie ahead; Dean was happy to put the Big Bad aside for a while and focus on the small stuff. Mary had disappeared again after the crap with Ramiel, and frankly he was glad to see her go. She’d put them all in danger, hell, Cas had almost died, and he couldn’t stand to look her in the eye after.

When Y/N had called, asking for help on a case, he’d been more than happy to load up the car and take the thirteen hour drive to Louisiana. The wind and the road helped clear his head, helped him push away the questions and distrust that bloomed in his gut.

Sam tried to get him to talk about it, to verbally work through the issue, but each time he opened his mouth, Dean turned the radio up a little higher until Sam got the message. AC/DC blasted from the speakers and filled the car. Dean sang along, tapping his hands against the wheel, letting the song sweep him away. It was his theme song today, his entrance music into the next story. He was back in action; back in black, back to the old days before things got complicated and everything was shades of gray. Back when bad guys were bad guys, people were good, and Dean could tell the difference.

They pulled into the Sunrise Motel and Dean cut the engine. Before Sam could ask which room was hers, a door a few rooms down swung open and Y/N stepped out into the sunshine. She leaned against the doorframe, her arms crossed casually across her chest, but her smile betrayed her excitement. It’d been at least three years since she’d see the boys, and her heart raced with anticipation.

The doors creaked loudly as the Winchesters exited the Impala, and Y/N started towards them, meeting Dean halfway and jumping into his outstretched arms. Her legs wrapped around his waist as his hands gripped her back and thighs and they fell into a kiss as if no time had ever passed. Sam stood by, rolling his eyes, but secretly enjoying the smile that filled his brother’s face. Dean was do for some unadulterated attention, and he knew how much Y/N cared for him.

They broke away after a long minute and she climbed down, adjusting her tight green shirt and turning towards Sam. She smiled broadly and opened her arms. “Sam! I missed you so much,” she said as her hands locked around his shoulders and forced him down to her level.

He hugged her tightly and laughed, “It’s good to see you too Y/N.”

“So, what’s got you stumped Princess?” Dean wiped at the corners of his mouth with one hand as he watched her attack his brother.

Y/N stepped away and took a deep breath. “Demons, dude.” She shrugged, “at least I’m pretty sure.” She shoved her hands into the back pockets of her jeans and rocked on her heels, looking back and forth between the two hunters. “Man, it’s good to see you guys. Ya’ll wanna get a drink or just get down to it?”

They replied in tandem but with different answers, Sam opting to get down to business while Dean took the leisurely approach.

Y/N laughed, “Lucky for you, we can do both.”

 

The bar was just down the street and mostly empty since it was two o’clock on a Tuesday. The trio piled into a booth, Y/N sliding in next to Dean, his arm falling around her shoulder naturally. They looked good together, Sam thought. She was good for him: tough, charming, smart and caring. But she was also fiercely independent and stubborn, which worried Sam and made him nervous about the case. If she was asking for help, she really needed it. She would never use something like this as an excuse just to cozy up to his brother.

Two rounds of beer and three years worth of catch up stories later, they finally got down to business.

“I know it sounds stupid, but I’m really stuck. I’ve never seen demons work like this. I was almost sure for a while it was witches, but the evidence is pushing me away from all that.” Y/N leaned her elbows on the table, picking at the label on her empty bottle as she spoke. “It presents as murder/suicides. married couples literally ripping each other apart. They’re found beaten and bloody, seemingly by each other’s hands. One of them kills the other, then offs themselves right after. Three couples in the last two weeks. I’ve checked for everything, hex bags, cursed objects, ties to any suspicious people; nothing pans out.”

“So you think they’re being possessed?” Sam asked, leaning forward in his seat.

Y/N shook her head, “No. That’s the other thing; no sulfur. No strange behavior leading up to it. No witnesses. No nothing.”

“What makes you think it’s a demon then?” Dean turned, leaning on the table to get a better look at Y/N. He rested his cheek on his hand and drew his bottom lip through his teeth as he stared at her.

Y/N took a deep breath, her shoulders falling as she exhaled, looking worn and defeated. “Honestly, I don’t know. What else could it be?”

Sam’s eyes raised towards the dim ceiling, his lips turning down at the corners as he thought. “Maybe some pissed off god, or a rogue cupid?”

Y/N laughed solemnly, “Cupid?”

“Don’t laugh, those guys are…” Dean shivered, remembering the naked hugger from years ago. “Anyway, don’t worry Y/N. We’ll figure this out and get you back on the road in no time.” He smiled, flashing his pearly whites at her.

She turned, adopting his pose, her head resting on her hand as she returned the smile. “Hopefully not too soon,” she said, placing her free hand on his thigh and squeezing gently. “We have some more catching up to do, don’tcha think?”

Dean’s eyes grew wide and he licked his lip, his body reacting quickly to her flirtatious touch. Across the table, Sam coughed in annoyance, attempting to break apart their foreplay. Dean looked away, clearing his throat and raising a hand towards the bar, “Check please!”

 

The motel was thankfully empty and Sam snagged a room across the parking lot from Y/N’s. He set to work right away, pouring over the Men of Letter’s files on his tablet, trying to keep his mind off the debauchery surely taking place across the way.

By sunrise, he had narrowed his search down to two possibilities, and he shut his eyes, allowing himself a few moments to recharge before the day truly began. Kicking off his shoes, he collapsed onto the closest bed and stretched out, hanging his long limbs off the sides, letting his fingers rest midair. Just as sleep tugged at his eyes, a fist began pounding upon his door.

“Go away!” he mumbled and turned his face away, retracting his arms and gathering up the pillow beneath his head. He buried his face in the synthetic down and curled into it, hoping the disturbance outside would leave him be.

“Sammy! Move your ass!” Dean bellowed from beyond the door, his fist connecting with the thin barrier once again.

With a heavy groan, Sam lifted himself from the mattress and unlocked the door, returning almost immediately to his pillow. Dean walked in, a tray of coffee cups in his hand and Y/N bouncing behind him.

They were wide awake, relaxed and happy; sappy smiles filling their faces as they took seats across from each other at the little round table by the door. Dean pulled a cup from the paper tray and held it out towards Sam. “Drink up Sleeping Beauty, we’ve got work to do.”

Y/N laughed quietly at the sneer Sam threw at Dean as he sat up at took the coffee. “Thanks.”

“You look exhausted sweetie,” Y/N teased, taking as sip of her own brew.

“I was up all night doing research while you two were…” Sam paused, waving a hand in their direction. “Whatever.”

“Oh it was a little more than ‘whatever’,” she said with a wink. Dean’s hand fell to the table, brushing against hers and she lifted it up, lacing their fingers together. Dean sighed and they fell into staring again, quite content to let their eyes do the talking. Dean’s thumb traced her lifeline, running gently across the crease in her palm. She held his gaze, her cheeks taking on a rosy glow under his inspection.

“Anyone want to know what I found out?” Sam’s hands and brows were raised in question, annoyed that they had woken him up just to ignore him.

Dean mumbled in response, a barely audible “Sure” passing his lips.

Y/N blushed and looked away, finally turning her attention to Sam, “What’dja find Big Guy?”

“Arawyn of Llangollen,” he said, wiping a hand down his tired face.

“A what of a who?” Dean asked, dropping Y/N’s hand as he turned towards Sam.

“Actually a who of a where,” Sam corrected. “Just, read it, it’s right there.” he put his coffee on the nightstand and laid back down, covering his eyes with one arm slung over his face.

Y/N shrugged and picked up the tablet, scrolling through Sam’s notes, getting the gist of the information.

“Arawyn of Llangollen was a powerful witch who terrorized the Welsh village back in the 1100s,” she spoke quickly and without emotion as she read, almost robotically absorbing the information. “She cursed happy couples to incite discourse, often ending in…ah.”

“Ah?” Dean lifted his eyes up from her lips where they had been stationed, watching with unabashed hunger as she spoke.

“The couples fought until they killed each other. Like, gruesomely killed each other. Eww, there’s sketches…” Y/N tilted the screen so Dean could see a rather crude drawing of a man ripping his wife’s head off of her shoulders.

Dean’s eyebrows raised and he frowned, “Hmm. So this is good, how do we kill her?”

Sam piped up from the bed, “There’s nothing to kill. She’s been dead for almost a century; the files are very clear that the case is closed. She was dealt with. Permanently.”

“So why are we talking about her?”

“Copycat or something?” Y/N put the computer down and looked over at sleepy Sam, waiting for an answer.

He huffed and sat up, pushing his pillow away. “Or something I guess. Haven’t quite worked that out yet.”

“Well, what are we waiting for?” Dean stood up and moved around his chair, leaning his hands on the back, “Let’s get moving!”

“There’s nowhere to go Dean, dead end.” Sam was up, rocking on his feet, his frustration evident on throughout his features. He ran a hand through his long chestnut hair and sighed as it came to rest on the back of his neck. “We just have to… wait and see what happens.”

“I told ya I was stuck,” Y/N sat back, slapping her hands on her denim clad thighs. “What’d you think I called you for?”

Dean laughed, the relaxed smile pulling at his face, lifting his lips and crinkling the delicate skin around his eyes. “I just figured you missed me,” Dean winked.

Y/N pursed her lips and blew him a kiss, “You know it baby.”

Sam growled and threw himself back down on the bed. “Could you two take your flirting someplace else so I can take take a nap please?”

 

They left Sam alone and went out for a walk. It wasn’t a very Dean thing to do, and actually wasn’t a very Y/N thing either. Still, they spent the rest of the morning walking hand in hand through the town, occasionally stopping to linger near a shop window or settle on a bench, content to sit in the warm sunshine and watch the townsfolk shuffle about their day.

It was strange, taking time like this in the middle of a case, but truly there was nothing to be done but wait. Y/N had done all the legwork the week before, visited all the victim’s families, interviewed every witness, examined every crime scene. All they could do was wait.

While it was unusual, Dean kind of liked it. He liked how easy it was to relax with Y/N, how naturally their footfalls fell into sync, how warm and peaceful it felt when her head rested on his shoulder. He found it so relaxing Dean had to remind himself not to get used to it. In the end they’d wrap the case and take off down different highways once again.

They enjoyed a late lunch at Mabel’s Diner when Dean’s stomach growled a bit more than could be ignored. Bacon cheeseburgers and milkshakes; solidifying the day as one for a 1950’s dating manual.

When they ran out of Main Street, they kept on walking, soon finding themselves in a grove of pecan trees. Golden and orange light filtered through the pale green leaves, reminding the couple just how long they’d been out. Even with sunset approaching, neither was quite ready to get back to the real world. The day had been too perfect, too lovely, too free of monsters and blood. A little vacation of the mind where they could allow themselves to dream of something better.

“We should probably get back,” Y/N said sadly, pausing in the aisle of trees, looking over her shoulder at the town they’d left behind. “Sam might need us.”

“Sam would have called.” Dean tugged her hand, pulling her close with the swift motion. She fell against his chest, her hands caught between them, fingers sliding under his shirt to dance over his collarbone. Very slowly Dean dipped his head, capturing her lips in a sweet kiss. His hand found her face, his thumb tracing the hollow of her cheek while they breathed into each other, the fading sunlight bathing them in a fiery glow.

Dean’s arm wrapped around her, his left hand pressing into the curve of her lower back. He walked her slowly backwards, their lips still locked together, his tongue sweeping lovingly over hers. Y/N let out a tiny moan when her back hit the tree trunk, and another as Dean covered her with his body, inch for inch pressing his weight on top of her. She melted against him, giving herself over to his whim, the flames of desire growing hotter inside of her.

Lips moved, hands roamed, hearts pounded; their actions making them both dizzy with passion. Too engrossed in the moment, neither heard the snap of the tree branch in the distance, nor felt the torrent of wind swirl around them; it wasn’t until it was too late that either hunter noticed a shift in the air.

 

Sam woke around noon, rested and ready to go. He returned to his notes, looking over everything with a fresh eye. As he downed the last dregs of his cold coffee, his vision passed over the crime scene photos once more, this time pulling out the similarity that he and Y/N had overlooked before. In every photo, lying next to the butchered woman, was a small wooden coin; easily passed over if you looked too quickly. Sam recognized it now and his heart stopped. He knew what they were dealing with, and it was no witch from the past.

 

Dean opened his eyes, squinting as a harsh light burned in the darkness. A single bulb hung from the ceiling above him, and he shielded his eyes, trying to take stock of his surroundings.

His head was swimming as he sat up, a deep ringing filling his ears. He was alone, it seemed, in a damp basement, the smell of mold and ancient dirt drifting through the air. “Y/N?” He climbed to his feet as he called to her, still disoriented from the attack. One moment they were going at it in an orchard, and the next he was waking up concussed in a windowless pit.

“Dean.”

He spun around, turning towards the sweet voice that spoke his name. Y/N stood calmly at the far end of the room, the dim light barely touching her face. She smiled and stepped forward, her lips pulled back into a malicious grin.

“What happened, where are we?” Dean moved towards her, his legs weak and unsteady. He stumbled forward, his head knocking into the low light, sending it swinging back and forth, casting eerie rays around the muddy walls.

“I got tired of the game Dean, figured it was time to end it.”

Dean shook his head, trying to focus on her face, but his eyes were blurry, almost shaking in his skull. Something was very wrong but he couldn’t pinpoint the source. “What game? What are you-” He froze, looking up at Y/N as she blinked slowly, her eyes opening to reveal total darkness. “No.”

“Oh yes Dean,” she laughed, her voice taking on a dark edge he’d never heard before. “You call yourself a hunter but you had no idea your little girlfriend was a demon, did you?”

He swallowed hard, his head still spinning. “This isn’t real. There’s no way.”

“You’re an idiot Dean. Always have been.” Y/N walked around him slowly, keeping him at arm’s length. “Even Y/N knew that, but she didn’t care. You were just an easy lay when she was bored. That’s not to say she didn’t enjoy herself. God knows I did last night.”

Dean balled his fists, his jaw clenching tightly as the demon taunted him. He shut his eyes tight and took a deep breath, summoning up his courage and pushing away the shock. “Exorcizamus te,” Dean began, speaking low and determined, but his words were cut short as Y/N’s hand gripped his short hair, pulling his head back painfully.

“Don’t you dare,” she hissed, her lips grazing his ear.

“Oh yeah, why not?” Dean scoffed, his attitude surfacing partially beneath the fear and worry flooding through his system.

Y/N released her grip on his head and walked around to face him. She tilted her head and smirked as she lifted her shirt, revealing a gaping wound in her stomach. It oozed fresh blood, dripping down slowly onto her her pants. “If I go, your girl goes. I made sure of that.”

Dean’s heart sank, his shoulders fell and he dropped his head; this was impossible, an insane nightmare made real. He gritted his teeth and looked up, staring hard into black eyes. “Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus-” Dean gasped as Y/N’s fist connected with his jaw, snapping his head back and causing the loud ringing to return to his ears.

“I said,” She struck him again, another fist to his face, this one landing under his left eye. “Don’t,” she clawed at his shirt, pulling him up and striking him a third time. “Do that!” A headbutt sent him flying backwards, the edges of his vision darkening as he collapsed to the ground.

He crawled to his knees, his knuckles pressing into the cold concrete as he panted, trying to catch his breath.

“You should just stay down Dean. Stay down and die like a good boy.” She hovered above, her lips spewing venom down upon him. Dean’s muscles tensed and he shot up, knocking into her with all his strength, sending her backwards into the hard wall. She landed with a huff, all of the air expelling from her lungs.

She laughed. Dean sneered as Y/N’s beautiful face was contorted with the demon’s hateful cackle. He lunged forward, fist aloft, prepared to put an end to the nightmare.

 

“Dean, it’s not a demon. Where are you?” Sam spoke into his phone as he sped away from the motel; the Impala’s tires screeching and leaving thick black marks on the pavement. He hung up and tossed the phone onto the passenger seat. Neither Dean nor Y/N were answering and he’d left enough voicemails. He’d just have to take care of this himself.

Once he’d figured out what they were after, he’d been able to link everything back to a coven of witches living out by Bell’s Pecan Orchard. If he’d identified the coin correctly, and he was sure he had, they were a coven of Arawyn’s followers; proteges who followed in the witch’s footsteps, passing down her spells through the generations. The coin was their calling card, a talisman left behind as proof of their works. Well, today it would be their undoing. 

 

Dean’s fist drove into Y/N’s face again and again, pushing blood up from the cuts his knuckles left on her cheekbones and around her eyes. Her nose flowed freely, coating her mouth and neck in the crimson mess. No matter what he did to her, she laughed; black eyes mocking him, making him long for Y/E/C.

“Give it up Dean. You can’t win this. If you kill me, Y/N dies. Then where will you be? All sad and depressed and guilty as always.” She smiled as a glimmer of joy passed over her face. “Oh, you should kill yourself. That would end all that silly little pain. Death would be a blessing to you Dean. Can you picture it?”

“Shut up!” Dean screamed, his hand closing around Y/N’s throat, fingers digging into the soft flesh of her neck. She gasped and clawed at his hand, but the evil smile never left her lips. The black eyes remained fixed on his face.

 

Sam burst through the house, his gun held high, witch killing bullets loaded and ready. He stalked through the rooms until he found the trio of witches sitting around an altar in the dark. They chanted over candles, an ancient cloth spread over their table, it’s archaic lettering worn and faded with time.

 

Y/N’s lips were turning blue; her nails scratched at Dean’s arm, desperate to pull him away. He held on, squeezing tighter, feeling her windpipe buckle under his grasp. Suddenly her smile faded away, the clipped laughter ceased, and her eyes returned to their usual sparkling color. Dean gasped and released her, stepping back in shock as Y/N was seemingly returned to him.

“Oh my god, Y/N!” he yelled, his hands falling to her shoulders in an attempt to steady her. She coughed, rubbing at her neck with shaking hands as she caught her breath. “Are you OK? Jesus!”

Y/N brought her hands up quickly, knocking his hands off of her shoulders. She cracked her neck, tipping her head to each side before looking up at Dean, the blackness returning to her eyes. “You really are an idiot, aren’t you? I mean, come on!” She laughed and struck him, hitting the bridge of his nose with her forearm. He doubled over, clutching his face as the blood poured out. “Let’s just finish this.”

Dean bent down and pulled his knife from his boot, gripping the handle tightly as he stood up and drove the blade into Y/N’s chest, piercing her heart. 

Gunshots rang out above Dean’s head followed by the thuds of solid masses hitting the floor. He held Y/N, one hand clutching her shoulder, holding her still as he twisted the knife in her chest. He expected to slow her down, to hold her still so he could continue the exorcism, but something was wrong. The darkness faded from her eyes and she gasped, sucking in a desperate breath of air. The smile fell away and her mouth dropped open in shock. “Dean…”

The fog clouding his mind lifted and Dean blinked furiously, his eyes darting about her face as he realized what was happening. She was no demon, no hellish force was keeping her alive; she was real, she was his, and now…

Y/N’s head fell back and her knees buckled as her body went limp; the blood pumping organ halted forever, stopped mid beat. Her last breath escaped slowly as Dean fell to the ground with her; it passed her lips as a whimper before her voice was no more.

Dean shook, his hands trembling as he ran his fingers down her face, passing over the deep bruises and cuts made by his fists. The blood caked on her skin, standing out in stark contrast as the color left her cheeks and lips, turning her a ghastly gray.

“No. No, no, no.” Quivering lips pleading with no one, begging to the empty air for help. “Y/N please…” He shut his eyes tight, willing himself to wake up, to find this just another one of his horrid dreams, but the feel of her warm blood soaking into his shirt, running down his arm, told him his wish would remain unfulfilled.

Slowly he pulled the blade from her chest, tears spilling freely as a bubble of blood followed the stained metal. He lost it then, raising his face to the rotting ceiling and screaming into the darkness; the vocal manifestation of his pain and guilt filling the dank space.

 

Sam was checking for a pulse on the body of the last witch when he heard it: his brother’s voice wailing from below. He froze, his muscles tensing as he realized what it could mean. He hadn’t known they were there, hadn’t even thought to look for them.

He flew through the house, finding a stairwell behind a pantry door in the kitchen towards the rear of the house. His long legs carried him quickly down the steep stairs; the moldy wood bowing and creeking under his weight.

Sam found them on the floor against a far wall, the single lightbulb offering a meager beam of illumination. Still, Sam could see clearly the terrible scene before him: Y/N bloody and gone, cradled to Dean’s chest, the knife still clutched in his hand.

“Dean, what did you do?”

 

They were back on the road again, Sam driving while Dean slept. He’d passed out not long ago, dehydration and exhaustion from his tears getting the best of him. He hadn’t stopped, hadn’t spoken or eaten since they’d burned her body, scattering her ashes amidst the pecan trees.

Curse or no, Sam knew Dean had been broken by this. He had killed the only girl he’d ever really loved; the only woman who could bring him peace in their crazy life. Whether he’d admit it to Sam or even to himself, Dean would be forever haunted by his actions, scarred by the witch’s curse, hating himself for the life he’d taken.

Dean’s eyes fluttered open as the setting sun hit his face; another day gone, another mile driven. He sat up and rubbed a hand down his face, wiping the lingering grains of sleep from his eyes.

“You OK Dean?”

“I’m fine, Sam.” His voice was low and quiet as he turned his attention out the window, not wanting to submit to questioning just yet.

Sam ignored his answer and pressed on, “Dean, you know it wasn’t your fault. The witches… it was a curse; an illusion. It wasn’t-”

“I said I’m fine, Sam,” he snapped, the muscles in his jaw flexing as he grit his teeth.

“You’re not fine, Dean. You need to-”

Dean turned the dial on the radio, drowning Sam’s words under Angus Young’s guitar riff as his song filled the car once again. Dean sighed and pressed his head back against the seat, staring up at the roof, praying the tears would stay down where he put them.

The joy of the song failed to touch him this time; there was no go get ‘em attitude anymore. Just the color that washed over his heart. He was back, back in black. Back in the darkness that never seemed to truly leave him. He didn’t know why he even tried anymore; as soon as he saw the sun, the black would inevitably return.


End file.
